Secrets of an Affair
by kataract52
Summary: "Once he was irretrievably lost, I realized I still loved him. Even as a stupid child, love was something I felt and knew to be beyond my control."


**Disclaimer:** I do not own.

**Author's Notes: **This is a pretty dark, funky piece. I'd request reviews, but I wrote it and _I'm_ not sure what to say about it… Premise: this is a one-shot based on a very short, one-sided version of events presented in '_The Ballad of Honor and Tess'_. In that story, Rogue has a brief and emotional affair that her stepdaughter blackmails her with. Obviously, I've tweaked things here a bit so all the characters are familiar and the story's original. Enjoy.

**Secrets of An Affair**

Don't get me wrong - I love my husband. But anyone who loves their spouse can tell you that love comes with a certain, cherished hate. And O, how I hate my husband. Every fault, repented or not, I had memorized and collected in my mind like casino chips. To me, those chips were more than mistakes or signs of a weak character: they were weapons I had collected in my arsenal. When things between us were going my way, I was happy to set them aside. I could even pretend like they didn't exist. But at the first sign of resistance, I'm arm myself. He called it 'emotional blackmail'. We should've called it Russian roulette. Sometimes he played along; sometimes he refused. I was too arrogant to realize I had faults, too; too stupid to see he loved me too much to hold my humanity against me. I was too young to be married.

The first time I kissed him, I was twenty-two. I know that sounds like a solid, mature age, but I hadn't kissed a man since I was fifteen. I was twenty-two with the maturity of a fifteen-year-old, and he played to my naivety like the piped piper. That kiss changed my whole life. I guess _meeting_ him changed everything, but that kiss really sealed it. I was fifteen and he was twenty-six… I didn't know when he said, "Take my hand", he really meant, "I'm giving you my life". Nor did I realize, "That's what I love about you!" was not the same as "I love you". And when he finally said, "I love you"… I had _no_ _idea_ what that meant at all. But he was right: no one ever loved me like he did.

At twenty-four – roughly seventeen – I gave him my body for the same reason any teenager would. I didn't want to die a virgin. He must've known, but as an adult, he also knew that love and lust can go together. I thought the two were one, which confused the hell out of me when I felt one for him and not the other. Yes, over the course of our long and winding relationship, there were times when I was repulsed by his past actions, but still cared for the man. Then there were times I didn't care for him at all, but used him to slate the burning between my legs. The confusion began not long after we consummated our relationship, when I discovered and rejected a piece of him. I was absolutely blinded by hatred, repulsed by what I'd given him. Once he was irretrievably lost, I realized I still loved him. Even as a stupid child, love was something I felt and knew to be beyond my control. And I loved him more lost than I ever did in my arms. The darkness that I loathed in him was alive inside me, and all the denial in the world wouldn't change that. But I never forgave him. _Never_. Not even when we reunited in our hearts and beds.

I don't think he ever forgave me, either, but he came closer. That little gem of resentment in his heart festered into an infectious affair with Allison, Lorna, Betsy, Rachel, and some girl in New Orleans named Lily. He was considerate enough to never fuck a girl I'd have to see every day (like Emma or _Stormy_), that insult might've been too much to take. But I could recite a play-by-play of what happened. It was like a sick game: how many could he hide, how many could I take, who could be the straw to finally break us…

Being so young, I didn't understand why he stepped out. Obviously, he felt like our relationship lacked something, and he went looking for it elsewhere. But I didn't really care about fulfilling his needs. Actually, I was kind of relieved. If he wasn't committed, I didn't have to commit, either. And it was sort of flattering to know everyone wanted my man and found him so… _talented_. I didn't admit this aloud, of course, and when confronted with evidence of his treason, I'd play the wounded lover. I'd torture him for the details and then confront the girl. It was my way of claiming a part in his sex life, where I no longer had a role. But I was never hurt by what he'd done – humiliation was as close as I ever came to discomfort. And I certainly wasn't _intimidated_ by his fly-by-night companions. I knew as sure as the sun would rise that he'd never leave me for another woman.

But it took him almost dying to get the same assurance from me. Vargas stole him from me, drained his powers, and cut through X-Men like dry weeds before aiming his scythe at Remy. I promised him something I'd never promised anyone – that while I lived, I wouldn't let him die. Defeat was imminent, and rather than change my definition of victory, I laid down with him. For a brief, shining moment in time, we were Romeo and Juliet, Bonnie and Clyde, Cleopatra and Marc Antony…

Since our story goes on, we clearly _didn't_ die. We decided to retire and set up house, and I tried to make a life with him. I _really_ tried. But there's a restlessness in him, a sadness I don't understand and could never erase, and his thirst for adventure came between us as my powers returned. Apparently, if someone could threaten to kill us every day, we'd live happily ever after, but otherwise, we didn't know how to love each other. So we returned, defeated and finished without ever admitting it. In my heart, I never wanted to love again. I was so ashamed of myself for failing in an endeavor I felt so passionately about. I was more humiliated by _quitting_ than I ever was by his _cheating_. So I turned to another game, superheroes, and pretended to simply lose interest in him or regaining control of my powers. What was the point in touching? All it ever brought was pain.

And then I found out I was pregnant.

Trust me, fate couldn't have chosen two people more unprepared to be parents than Remy and me. He was reckless and flaky. I didn't know the first thing about changing a diaper or making a bottle. Due to my powers, I'd never even held a baby since I was myself a child. But hell or high water, I _would_ hold mine!

Those were the happiest days of my life. All of my memories include laughter and smiles and hands gently stroking my enormous belly. All of my wishes were granted with the accuracy and punctuality of a genie: pizza with peanut-better, mint ice-cream with pickles, and foot rubs. The only wish I couldn't have granted was mastery over my powers. That I had to _earn_, and I plucked that last victory from the jaws of certain death. The stress of the mental struggle nearly cost my unborn children their lives, but like their parents, they're tough. I came to in a hospital with my children alive and my love by my side, and all the world blinded me for the promise it held.

Suddenly, with a family and my newfound ability, the world opened all its precious gifts to me. A modest golden band meant more to me than twenty silver stars. Superhuman strength was nothing compared to spooning half-dressed. A decade of battling for mutant rights in search of personal redemption was just summer camp. Everything paled next to giving life and holding them in my arms like an ordinary mother. Never one to half-ass a task, Remy and I made twins: a boy and a girl. They were healthy, beautiful, _normal_ – my eyes and his hair. I was so relieved at their appearance that wept, and then spent the next seven days inspecting them. It was a game we made – one all new, happy parents play. Our daughter had his nose and my ears. Our son had my strong lungs and his toes. I memorized the curl of their little fingers and tried to guess at the color of their eyes. What more could life offer? I was born to meet Remy and create lives with him; nothing mattered more before or since.

My life had been a fairy tale… It began with tragedy, endured suffering, and climaxed with a beach house filled with children.

But it didn't end at the pinnacle of my contentment. Over the next weeks of my children's lives, Remy and I mastered infancy care. In the following months, our children grew exponentially, and he and I became expert parents. We became an incredible team: working together to keep the house and home in flawless order. Where one faltered, the other carried, and our children provided a mutual goal that our relationship never had. In many ways, the twins were the missing piece of our lives. Once all the pieces were assembled, _we_ were complete. But _I_ was not. Months and then years melted away like a hardened heart to a child's tears or smile. Unfortunately, my occupation couldn't distract me forever from a longing that – like Remy's sadness – couldn't be ignored or satisfied by love.

First, my babies told me what they wanted, and then they were running after those things. It happened just that quickly that they'd outgrown any use for me. I tried finding a place around the house, but it was like forcing a puzzle piece where it didn't belong. The children didn't need me, and I wasn't fulfilled wiping their chins anymore. We had all grown, but I alone struggled to find my new role. Remy had his profession, the twins were learning math and science and the art of combat. I tried a few odd jobs around town, but they were all secondary to my passions… "Secondary" became everything in my life until I finally drown in the lackluster, too. I was a wife, but no one's beloved; a mother, a servant, really. No one _needed_ me; they just used the services I provided. The life I lived in my heart wasn't the life I lived, and the more distant the two grew, the more I lost myself.

I was working at one of those odd jobs at a mechanic shop when I met him. He was looking for someone to fix up a muscle car for his niece's wedding and introduced himself as "Gus". If dream girls arrive in bikinis, dream guys show up in a 1970 Ford Torino. He was clean and polite, which impressed me more than it should have, and when I spoke, he made eye contact and waited until I finished. Strange, the things I took for granted until I didn't have them anymore…

Gus was nothing like Remy. My husband was normally described as "charming" and "debonair". After a few years, the shine wore off and left him _slick_. I longed for true words with grit and heart. Gus was a gentleman – a rare breed on the west coast. He was polite and generous with everything he had, and because I didn't take advantage of that, we made fast friends. Remy didn't like it, of course, but he kept his objections to a minimum, as I kept my comments. And before long, Gus was just another secret piled on the wall between us. In retrospect, I think I adored Gus because he supplied all the missing pieces of my husband. He never pushed me for a kiss or a commitment. He never complained for more of my time. He listened when I grumbled about my husband and children, and he encouraged me not to take them for granted. He was a true friend.

Or so I thought.

It didn't take much to imagine myself with him. I was like a school girl again, daring to glimpse at forbidden daydreams. I didn't bother to let them play out because I knew how they would end. All men were liars, I knew that, and the best I could hope for was a loyal one who helped provide for our children. And I had that in Remy. Gus was never a suitable replacement, nor anything compatible. He supplied the missing pieces to help me re-assemble my life, that's all. At that time, I needed a sounding board and some encouragement; someone who knew me well enough to offer insightful advice on why I felt this way and how to cure it. Gus tried to rescue me, but his scope was limited. He'd never been married and had no children, and very openly regretted missing those opportunities. Most days, just hearing about his problems gave me strength to endure mine.

With surprising ease, we progressed from friends to fantasy lovers.

"I wish I'd met you four years ago, Anna," he told me one night in a cheap little diner we frequented. "Your husband's a lucky guy… If I were him, I'd _never_ let you leave the bed."

I tried not to smile and responded, "You'd have to go back farther than that, sugah. Ah was his from the first time he took me in his arms."

"That's how you know it's true love… When you can't remember _not_ loving them."

"Ah wouldn't know," I said quietly. "He was the first and last man Ah was ever with. He's been with all these girls; he knows what he likes. Ah don't just mean _physically_, but-"

"He knows what he likes in a girlfriend," he supplied helpfully.

"Right. And Ah don't. Ah just know Remy."

"You're lucky, too, then. Found your soul mate on the first try."

"Yeah, but what if Ah didn't? What if Ah just got pregnant and married the first man Ah ever slept with and my soul mate's still out there somewhere waitin' on me?"

That night we walked down to the ocean and shared our first kiss under the stars. I knew once this evening passed, I would have to cast Anna aside and return to Remy's wife and the only female mechanic in town. I grasped at freedom, willing him to assure me with his body as he never could with words. I knew I took it too far. Even while we fucked, I regretted it and wished I could be home with my family. He didn't _move_ right; he didn't _touch_ me right or _say_ the right things. It might've been the only time I turned to Gus and longed for Remy, but it was the _only_ thing I couldn't take back. By the time he finally finished, I was dry, and I practically ran home.

Thankfully, Remy was gone for work and the twins were asleep. I scrubbed down in the shower and slept in my children's room, as if they were talismans against the demon of guilt. How could Remy commit this time and again? Was he entirely possessed by shame, or had he deceived himself as well as he had the rest of the world?

Eight hours of Hell drove me to the telephone, where I poured out my confessional. Not to my husband, thank goodness: he couldn't be reached.

"Ah cheated on Remy," I blurted out to Emma, who was only half-awake. In New York, even the Sun was still sleeping. She wasn't the most forgiving heart, but she'd been our sex therapist years ago and telling her seemed natural.

"Rogue…? You did… what…?"

"Ah had an affair."

"Good thing I wasn't standing up. Just a second… There! Now tell me about it."

"Ah wish it never happened… Remy's away, but he's comin' home today and Ah think Ah need to tell him. Ah just don't know what to say…"

"Are you in love with this guy?"

"No!"

"Are you going to keep screwing him?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Then why complicate things?... _Think_ about it; you're not in Cajun country anymore. If he decides to divorce you over this, he'll get the house _and_ your kids."

"He _can't_ leave me," I pleaded.

"Maybe not, but he'll never forgive you, either. I've dated enough men to know – Southerners are the _most_ territorial." She sounded like she was clipping her nails. "Their women are their property. He won't want you now that someone else has been inside you… That's why I prefer more _evolved_ men. They may not hold the door open, but at least they realize women are sexual creatures, too."

"Yeah, well, Ah ain't you… And while we're at it, Ah'd appreciate you not stereotypin' my husband, either."

"Call it whatever you want. You tell him, he _will_ leave you. In a year, he'll be remarried, and you'll be visiting your children on the weekends… Rogue, I know you think I'm a whore, but I'm telling you as someone who cares – keep your mouth shut. You'll just end up hurting everyone _else_ to make yourself feel better… I could smother your conscience, if you like."

I showered three times a day and had trouble sleeping, but Remy never read the truth inscribed in my eyes. Life continued for him uninterrupted. I never confided in him, but I wished whole-heartedly he'd suspect and confront me. Every time the phone rang, I hoped it was Gus desperate to rip open my heart and spill out the contents. _He_ seemed to disappear, and I realized too late he'd probably "dated" a lot of married women. He was giving me time to create my double-life. When I was ready to see him again, I had no doubt he'd be waiting patiently. _My_ patience, on the other hand, had been beaten down to the fragility of a spider's web. Time dragged out like a parasite being ripped from my entrails. I seriously considered Emma's offer to erase my memory, but I needed to actively deceive Remy. Besides, I'd probably make the same choice again…

But I didn't know how to live with the guilt. I tried exercising and then drinking; I took my husband out and made him discuss something besides the kids. When all those things failed to soothe my mind, I accidentally cut or burned myself in the kitchen. I didn't feel "better", but for a fleeting moment, the pain alone existed, and then I felt the rush of dopamine to cope with a fresh wound, which would require my focus and a temporary concern from Remy. It became a habit with an inevitable result as terrifying as it was appealing. Death seemed to be the only way to lay down my burdens without placing them on another. I loathed the woman I'd become. I was weak, selfish, impulsive. If Remy wanted to divorce me, he had every right. Lord knew _I_ would.

Shortly before Christmas that year, Remy and I took the twins back to New York to watch Emma and Scott marry. We were among the few genuinely happy for their union – however briefly it may have lived – and this new opinion that we shared rekindled an interest in each other. He suggested we extend our little vacation to a week in Maine. We could tour the cities, show the kids the ocean we'd known as children, and maybe even rent a cabin before we got snowed in for the winter! His daydream offered all the temptation I needed. More than anything else, I wanted to disappear. We could hibernate like bears and pretend to be different people. Certainly, this was my opportunity to cleanse my soul and decide if Remy and I could still function as a couple. If we couldn't get along in a world devoid of problems, we'd never make it anywhere. But I was hopeful: foolishly so.

The day after the wedding, Remy and I stopped by the mansion in Salem Center which had been our home for so long. Familiar faces crowded around us and merrily bogged down our progress up the coast. They wanted to hear about our new lives, and Remy gladly obliged them. He always enjoyed entertaining more so than I. And the way he talked about us was… _enchanting_. In his version, every day was paradise and every night was bliss. I don't know who he was talking about, but it wasn't anyone _I _knew.

While he enhanced the rumor of our flawless marriage, Gus called. I didn't immediately answer my phone, but considered what I should say to him. I told myself this was a chance for a clean break. I would bid him farewell and re-commit to my husband. Emma had been right, after all. It had been agony, but the act was behind me now and no one need ever know. By the time we returned to California, our lives would return to their normal pattern. Gus was a mistake that never happened.

"Anna, where've you been?" He asked when I returned his call. "You just… _bailed_. Is everything alright?"

My husband was still in the next room, loudly praising our children to students who adored him more than their own fathers. I closed my eyes and pictured him eavesdropping, which chocked out the words I wanted to speak.

"No. Ah'm sorry, but… It was a mistake. You _know_ Ah'm married. We should've never… Anyways, it's over now. Ah can't have you in my life anymore."

"Wait a minute!" He implored. "Look, I'm sorry I kissed you! And I'm sorry if… If I pressured you into something you weren't ready for. We screwed up, okay? It doesn't have to happen again. But you… Anna, you've been the best friend I've had since _high school!_ You get me and I get you! I think you know how rare it is to have that sort of connection. Hell, you're _married_ and you don't have it! I don't want to ruin your life. I don't want anything but your company. I'm sorry we didn't meet earlier, but we're in each other's lives for a _reason_. You know that, too. And if we were brought together to just be friends then so be it."

"Gus…" My heart was breaking. "Please don't call me again."

I closed the phone in my hands, watching the last remnants of him fade from my life as the screen light died. He _had_ been my best friend. Actually, every word he said was true, but that didn't make them right. I learned the first time around that love and lust could be one or two, and now I realized that truth and error could coincide as well.

I turned back to the room where my husband entertained and realized in a heartbeat that the melodic sound of his voice, perforated by laughter, had ceased. A figure in the doorway caused me to gasp, but luckily it wasn't him.

"Storm-"

"How _could_ you, Rogue?" The weather goddess scorned, glowing with anger. For a moment, I thought my eyes had deceived me. Perhaps my desire to see anyone but Remy had blinded my senses. "How _could_ you!" She repeated, assuring me it was indeed her and she expected a reply. Like a hawk striking its prey, she closed the distance between us with her hands freed of fists or weapons.

I broke her spell with my voice. "Storm, it's not what you think-"

She paused for a moment, so close I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Any moment now, lightning would strike me down. "Am I mistaken in believing you have broken your sacred vows?" she thundered. "Have I _mistakenly_ seen you replace your husband?"

"No! Ah – Ah never took it that far! And it's over now!"

"Have you _any_ idea the power you hold over him?" She asked, suddenly quiet. There was an edge in her voice that reminded me of the break in a hurricane.

I should've played repentant sinner, but I was used to arguing with Remy and so that's how I battled her. Setting my jaw, I retaliated, "He's cheated on me _dozens_ of times, 'Ro! _Dozens!_ Or is _he_ the only one who gets to screw up?"

"Do not play a fool's game with me, child; you will see the limits of my patience." She snatched the phone from my hands and gripped it tightly under tiny lightning bolts until the device sparked and caught fire. "_This_-" she hurled it into a small trash can and let it burn out. "-is _finished_."

The weak smoke set off an alarm, even after Storm doused the can and blew away the burned air. Much to my horror, Remy was first among the "rescuers". He leapt in and his eyes darted around the room, evaluating the scene. First, he moved toward Storm because she was closer, and then he stepped towards me. I stepped back instinctively, sending an alarm off in his mind. I could see the discovery on his face, but he asked, "_Tout va bien_?"

For a moment, I wanted to strangle Storm. She had no clue what I'd endured – the lengths I'd gone to protect my family. If I was able to hide my guilt, I could have concealed an affair, too. If I'd wanted them both, I could've had them. Instead, I'd tried to do the right thing. Then she stumbled upon a few fragments of the story and was bursting to tell Remy. Even knowing I'd sacrificed a dear friend on the altar of marriage didn't satisfy her. She wanted my blood.

But the moment passed, my passion deflated, and I knew the peace of a man condemned. Her love for him was purer than mine; her deeds more noble. I hoped that would bring him comfort in the nights spent alone.

Storm shook her head and gently said, "You know the trappings of technological advances elude me… It would appear I owe Rogue a new telephone."

She exited serenely and he turned to follow her, throwing me a quick, spiteful glance.

I was glad he was gone because in the next heartbeat, the ground beneath me vanished. It happened that quickly. One look said it all. He knew. Granted, from this scene, the pieces weren't all that difficult to assemble, but he'd accepted the finished product without inquiry. So he knew about the phone call and he knew about Gus and he knew Storm had caught me. She was right: I was a fool. He'd cheated more times than I could recall; how could he not know the signs of infidelity? The secrets, the guilt, the depression. And now that I remembered who my husband was, I realized his trip that week hadn't been coincidence. No, he'd probably had the phone lines tapped and my car bugged since he first heard about my new, friendly client. And the week he took a "mission", when Gus and I finally acted on our impulses, Remy was scouting out real estate and local schools. He was already planning on leaving!

The thought made my heart plummet into my bowels. Almost immediately, out of denial or logic, my mind countered that possibility. Maybe he _had_ planned to divorce me, but we were visiting friends and taking a family vacation – not splitting up assets and seeing a therapist. He must've changed his mind, or perhaps he was only acting on what he anticipated I would want. The man was cunning enough to let me destroy myself, but he wasn't vindictive enough to blind-side our children and friends.

Clinging to this delusion – that he was a better person than I and had forgiven me without an apology – gave me strength to stand and walk out of that room. It gave me the courage to look him squarely in the eye again.

We continued with our vacation and lives as though that _look_ had never happened. My fear that he'd discover my secret became a fear that he'd abandon me with it. And then I hated him for letting me suffer needlessly. I even hated him for _not_ hating me. All I wanted was for him to stack his chips against mine and spin the wheel: rob my collection until I was broken to his satisfaction. But he refused. I had nothing left he wanted to take. And yet he stayed anyway. I'll never know why, but he loved me despite what I'd done. He didn't need to hear me say that I'd messed up and lacked character; he understood some moths are consumed needlessly by the flame. With bitter sympathy, I adored his compassion. I adored his devotion to a worthless wife and two children who would never know the depths of his kindness. And then one night I looked in his eyes and saw a love I thought we'd lost or only knew in dreams. Our game had unraveled into something without rules or barter. The chips were dust, the numbers obscured, and the table wheels locked with rust.

We had nothing left to gamble; nothing left to lose.


End file.
